P52 Week 19 - Architecture

I knew the townhouse was the place for me when I first drove up to it. It was a somatic feeling: my body settled into a smooth, even hum. My face relaxed and I felt my presence meld with the surroundings: the air, the plants and the building structures. I was drawn to much more than the architecture.

I ended up purchasing the townhouse. The fact that it was located in a less than desirable neighborhood didn’t deter me. Of course, it fit my requirements in several practical ways – it was in the price range I could afford, it had an enclosed garage; it had two bedrooms (sometimes I wish it had three, but really, for the few times I needed the extra room, it hasn’t been a big drawback.) And it was move-in ready.

So how do I reconcile the feeling with the architecture of the place?

The entryway to my townhouse is narrow and actually not very welcoming, but up a flight of stairs, the living area becomes more inviting. It has graceful arches, spanning higher-than-code ceilings that separate the living room from the dining area, and the dining area from the kitchen. The lines of these arches give the place a warm and homey feel. I immediately felt at ease when I first viewed the unit with my real estate agent – and I still feel the same pleasant contentment every time I return home.

I have large sliding glass doors off my living room, opening onto a cement patio. Direct access to the outside has been important to me. I once lived in a second floor apartment that had small windows and no private outside access and I felt horribly penned in and claustrophobic.

My unit faces southeast and so I am blessed with lots of light, another really important requirement. My bedroom has large double windows and I gaze at sunrises as they migrate along the mountain silhouettes north and then south through the seasons. Even on the often-cloudy Seattle days, my rooms are infused with plentiful soft rays. My favorite place to hang out is in my bedroom – no, actually, I find every room in my house delightful to be in – each in their own way.

So, does the feeling come because of the architecture, or does the architecture create the feeling?

As I’ve pondered and stewed over this week’s Project 52 prompt, I’m not sure I’m any closer to solving this dilemma. My experience with two Seattle cathedrals hasn’t helped.

The interior of St Marks, the Episcopal cathedral, is a rather unsightly huge concrete box – and yet I have a lovely feeling whenever I enter. A sacred sense resonates in my body as a sweet ache in my chest that radiates into my belly, my throat and eyes. I often experience deep insights as I sit in a compline or Eucharist service, or when I walk the labyrinth.

St James Cathedral, the seat of the Catholic archdiocese, is a recently refurbished gorgeous Renaissance Revival style structure. It is architecturally stunning. I’ve spent some time here as well, meditating and occasionally attending mass, and yet the depth of feeling hasn’t been the same. Is it because of the baggage that I have around being raised in the Catholic Church? I don’t think so, as I’ve had profound experiences in other Catholic churches – even quite humble ones.

Is it the building itself that carries the energy/aura/mojo – whatever – independent of the architecture? The feelings that I experience are so ephemeral that I cannot completely grasp their origin. Nevertheless, they are grounded in my body and are very, very real.

So I ask the question again: does the feeling come because of the architecture, or does the architecture create the feeling? My experience with churches and my home makes me wonder if it’s the feeling that predominates. Maybe it’s a chicken and egg phenomenon. Maybe it’s both and maybe it doesn’t really matter. What does matter is to take in the experience as a glorious whole – both the visual and the feeling – and not nitpick about the particulars.